The Iceman Ride

Cycling purists may have a hard time reading some of this because I took a few liberties (its fiction), so jump to the end for my comments. This is self-edited. Any volunteers for future editing? Very little sex, and some burns. 17k words so skip this story if you don't like the length. Most of the bad guys reap consequences.

"Keep going, keep going, go faster! Gotta keep running!" These were the only thoughts in the mind of the mountain biker, flying on the single track, passing slower riders whose lungs and legs were straining their endurance.

Thoughts of "Faster! Must go faster! Gotta get away, gotta run!" drove him forward. Somehow his legs, heart, and lungs were in perfect sync for the stress he was putting on his body as he flew down the forested trail. Mentally he was what some people would call "in the zone," only that might not be entirely accurate.

Some people find that running away from some problem can provide a sense of relief, even if temporary. It doesn't address the underlying cause of the trauma, and in reality when running, there is no place really to go.

He had been in the 15th wave of the annual Iceman race in Kalkaska, Michigan held annually on the second Saturday of November. It is a very popular 30 mile ride of mostly flowey single-track through the forests of upper lower Michigan, with a few fire-roads thrown in, some technical drops and banks on the trail, with about the last five miles uphill.

Over 5,000 riders register each year with an extensive waiting list. Some years it was a snow-covered trail, other years deep winter temperatures, some years basically a mud pit, and like this year just cold frozen ground with no snow, but slowly warming temps during the day that would make portions of the trail moist, muddy, slippery.

"Left! Left!" he yelled with urgency as he was quickly coming up on riders who had left before him in earlier waves. He had been passing other riders on the left and right with reckless abandon. Some would shout and swear at him as he blew by.

One portion of the trail was along a ridge with a dropoff on the left. The actual trail was only about 12 inches wide, the dropoff on the left, and trees and bushes on the right. With little to no room to pass the rider blasted down the trail on the very edge, surprising and shocking those he passed with the dangerous maneuvers in such a narrow area, with such a huge risk.

But they also marveled at the skill and smoothness of his bike handling. The trail then dipped into a hard right bank immediately followed by a sharp uphill grade before leveling off again into a flowey trail.

His very expensive Trek Top Fuel AXS Gen 4 mountain bike had a bluetooth seat dropper. He dropped it just before hitting the downhill into the sharp berm, dropping his body weight to distribute his center of gravity in a safer position as he whipped around the berm, trusting his Maxxis Minion tires to grip the dirt and hold the curve.

Blasting at full speed out of the berm to the uphill he hit the dropper button again and raised his seat while simultaneously clicking his gears for the optimal pedaling cadence, clearing the rise and continuing his conquest of the trail.

Buster Baker glanced down at his Garmin trip computer and saw he was at the 22nd mile with eight to go. "How did I get this far already? It feels like I just started the race! Nevermind, I've got to go, gotta keep going, gotta get away! C'mon, c'mon!," as he urged on his body.

The trail opened onto a fire road, basically a dirt road through the forest wide enough for a vehicle, but straight and flat enough for bikers to either get some speed up or pass slower riders, or just relax and catch their breath from the exertions on the singletrack.

Only Buster didn't slow down, instead he heard his gears being clicked up to high gear as he stood on the pedals and went even faster. On the flat road he took another glance at his trip computer and saw his heart rate monitor was at 190! "How can it be that high," he consciously wondered, "I just got started!"

As he was passing other riders he realized there were two riders, the one on the bike doing the work and one that was seemingly floating above the bike watching everything, and it was that one that realized the reality of the scene.

The floating body watching the rider realized that the heart, lungs, and legs were in perfect synch, that the gear changes were smooth and virtually automatic without any thought, that the eyes were seeing the perfect line to take on the trail, even in what most would consider perilous maneuvers around other riders or on the drops, rocks, berms, and other technical parts of the trail.

The floating body was in awe of this out-of-body experience watching the perfect flow of the rider, but with some nagging realization this was not normal for him, that something was driving him to abandon any hint of risk or personal safety.

* * * *

Several hours earlier Buster Baker woke in his hotel at 5:30 am at the Grand Traverse Resort and Spa, the accommodations arranged by the race organizers. He woke refreshed from a good night's sleep, and hopped out of bed to get ready to head to the course.

On race days he always made sure to get a good night's rest, not hanging out late with all the other riders down in the hotel bar the night before. Although last night, as usual, his wife Rachel hung around with all the other riders and their wives or girlfriends.

The 27 year old Rachel did not frequently accompany her 32 year old husband on his races and rides, preferring to stay home, unless it was to a nice destination where she'd get her spa days and shopping. Even in November, Traverse City, Michigan is a very nice waterside town off the Grand Traverse Bay.

This morning she briefly awoke as her husband was finishing dressing in his race kit. His lightly insulated jersey fit his athletically trim torso and wide shoulders quite well, showing off his pecks, deltoids, and biceps. Over his narrow waist and very firm ass he pulled on his cycling shorts.

It was always amusing to her how the hard core bikers went commando under those shorts. Anything for less weight on the ride!

He pulled on thicker socks that went over his calf, given that the weather might be cold he knew his body would heat up quickly for the most part, but he'd rather the mud get on his socks than on his skin.

Rachel picked up her phone from the nightstand and sent a text, then called over to Buster, "what wave are you in? What time do you leave the chute?"

"I'm in the 15th wave, so will probably be leaving around 10:30 or 11:00"

"What time will you be back? Do you know?"

"Well, the best riders are just under two hours, I'm not that good. So I'll be close to three hours, maybe more if there's a lot of riders ahead of me I can't pass, and then I'd like to hang around and eat and see the awards, so probably late afternoon."

"OK, have a good time!"

"Looking forward to it babe. You have a good time too!"

Rachel thought, "don't worry, I certainly will" as she smiled and sent another text.

Buster finished harnessing his chest mount for his GoPro because he loved filming his entire ride, having even fashioned a light battery pack for longer recording time. He grabbed his water bottle and duffle bag of clothes to change into after his shower at the race site.

Hopping in his Sprinter Van, fully outfitted to carry his bikes and equipment, basically a rolling repair shop, he headed out to breakfast to get his body ticking and kickstart the breakdown of food for fuel. He found a local breakfast place called a "coney island," which in Michigan is basically what a typical diner is called.

Six eggs, veggies, spinach, and a slice of raisin toast, orange juice and a cup of coffee did the trick. He'd eat a banana just before the race, and had a few gel packs taped to his crossbar.

As he left the diner, he checked over his equipment before heading to the race site and saw that he forgot his toiletry kit at the hotel. It was only 10 minutes away and he still had time to retrieve it and get to the starting line in time.

After pulling back into the hotel and going up to his room, he knew his wife would likely be in the shower or bathroom getting ready for a spa day. He really loved Rachel who he married when she graduated University of Michigan. She came from a family that was well-off, but they looked down on Buster since he had not gone to college.

Buster couldn't afford to go to college since his father died when he was a teenager, and he had to work after school to supplement his mother's income as a stock clerk at the grocery store and she would clean offices at night and rich people's homes during the day.

At age 18 he got his life insurance license and began door-knocking. It was a grind, but he was sincere and honest and a very hard worker and eventually he began writing small life insurance policies.

His training was on-the job. He knocked on hundreds of doors every week, mostly the low-end neighborhoods who could only afford perhaps $35-$50 in monthly premiums for small whole life policies. They basically covered burial expenses with a little extra.

It was a real grind, but the commissions started at 60% of annual premiums for the first year, and dropped to basically nothing after that.

His mother was a hard worker, not healthy, but did a good job raising her son by herself. Who knows where his deadbeat father had disappeared to? Buster respected his mother, and she was his biggest fan.

In fact, she was one of his first customers, buying a $50 monthly policy for $40,000 in face amount so he could get used to the application and underwriting process.

She wouldn't know it at the time, but that was one of the best things she could do for her son's career. One night she didn't come home from cleaning the office building. The next morning Buster woke to a police officer knocking on the apartment door to inform him she suffered a major heart attack and died.

That was when Buster saw the true value of life insurance. Buster and his mother had been living month-to-month for years, always scrimping. So losing her income from her death, with expenses pretty much staying the same, plus burial costs, really would have been a problem if it were not for that $40,000 policy.

After having knocked on so many underprivileged homes and seeing so many impoverished families, difficult health and family circumstances, where life and unfair and unexpected things had put people in situations that were too enormous to crawl out of, he saw how so many people were reduced to just surviving.

And death messes that up even more. Were it not for that small, cheap, $40,000 policy Buster would be out on the street, no mailing address, no stability. And that is what happens every day to people in the richest country in the world, America.

So the insurance proceeds helped him out of a financial jam. He paid the burial expenses and now had reserves to pay for his housing and food. But it also gave him a story, a real story and a personal one to tell his insurance prospects.

Buster got "religion." He now truly understood the importance of what he did, and he did it with vigor and intensity. His final expense sales took off, up to 10 policies a week which made him one of the highest producers in the State. With that volume he also left the agency and went independent where his first year commission was now 110 percent of premium.

Knowing the fragility of how money can disappear, but also the opportunities it presents, he began to take insurance education classes such as the CLU and LUTFC. He began to see the larger picture of life insurance applications for individuals, families, and businesses.

Over the years the 18 year old turned into a 21 year old professional, and one might say "graduated" to the larger policies for estate and business planning. By age 23 he bought his 1,700 square foot ranch home in an inner-ring suburb. He turned one of the bedrooms into a home office, properly appointed and secured per insurance and FINRA regulations.

He had a steady inflow of referrals by the time he met Rachel at a dance club. Even at a relatively young age it was recognized how he really understood his products and applications, and had become skilled at explaining and resolving complex estate planning issues.

His commissions soared, and qualified for the Million Dollar Round Table every year except for his first year of door knocking. At MDRT he made many valuable connections, learned even more purposes for insurance products, and found resources to support his growing business.

One of these connections took Buster under his wing and advised him on how to protect his own assets and commissions and reduce his taxes. This involved registering an insurance agency with the Cayman Islands, meeting the specific annual filing regulations with the Cayman Islands Monetary Authority.

It also required extra hoops to go through for any appointments with the various insurance companies he represented. But once a person is organized it just becomes a routine amount of paperwork.

And Buster was organized, as opposed to so many agents and agencies that love to sell, but are terrible with any sort of paperwork. Believe it or not, this is common within the industry.

Rachel found Buster to have a great personality, friendly, handsome, and a hard worker. She didn't quite like the inner suburb where he lived but recognized how clean the home was and well-kept the yard was so she thought she could live like this for a little while. They were married four years ago.

Her family looked down on him for the lack of a university education, and especially because they looked down on salespeople, especially when they considered insurance agents to be slimy hucksters. Her father, while having those same views, silently but grudgingly admired the young man's work ethic and reputation with his clients. After all, how many young people could afford a home on their own at age 23 without family support?

Gordon and Gracy, Rachel's parents, belonged to an exclusive country club, and would regularly invite the newlyweds for dinner there. Her father, though, admonished Buster that he was not to prospect any of the members, or even tell them he sold insurance. All he could say is that he "helps process paperwork for an insurance corporation."

To a salesperson, especially one now of Buster's caliber and qualifications, this restriction is a missed opportunity. Eventually Buster asked his father-in-law why other members who sold insurance were permitted to prospect other members, but he was not.

"Because they're "financial planners," Buster. And you're not. There's a difference."

"Sir, you realize that's just another term for people who sell insurance products, right? I get that I'm not the kind of guy you wanted your daughter to marry, but do you really think I'd embarrass you if I spoke to any of the members?"

"Buster, we already agreed on this. Leave it at that."

He had become used to the superior attitude his father-in-law had toward him, but he was partly envious and partly frustrated at how other agents could sell within the club, almost as their exclusive territory.

One big blow-up occurred when Buster met his father-in-law's business partner, Roger Doring. Roger had initially put up most of the money to buy the factory a number of years ago, so he held 51% of the stock, and the father-in-law 49%. Somehow this came up in conversation over drinks at the club one evening.

"So do you guys have a buy/sell agreement in place?"

"What are you talking about Buster? Is this some insurance-talk you're using?" asked Roger.

"Not exactly, but it is a planning concept to protect your interests if one of you needs to sell your portion of the business for any reason, like death, disability, or you just want out."

"Sounds interesting, Buster, " said Roger. "When we organized years ago I think our attorney put something like that together."

"Buster, goddammit, I told you no talking about your business here in the club!" admonished Gordon.

"Yeah, I know, but this is important. You've got to have an agreement, and make sure you have a funding mechanism in place and that's where insurance comes in. It's imperative you have a contingency funding solution in place."

Frustrated, his father-in-law got up and went over to Buster and "SLAP"!! He slapped Buster across the face. "How many times do I have to tell you to know your place! I don't need a low-life insurance huckster embarrassing me or my family or my partners here in the club."

Dear reader, can you imagine the embarrassment of publicly getting shamed in front of other people by your own father-in-law?

All Buster could do was sit there, with the red mark of the slap on his cheek blending into the rest of his face as it flushed with embarrassment when other members had turned in their chairs to see what the commotion was.

The slap turned into a wake up call for Buster. He began to notice stark differences between him and his in-laws, and even between himself and his wife.

Initially, the economic and cultural differences were not an issue for two young people in love. As the few years passed, however, Buster noticed a difference in his wife. A little less patience, perhaps more snippy with him, and curiously, even though she knew his background and occupation when dating him she would occasionally make demeaning comments about it even as he continued to support her extravagences.

At one of the fancy events at the club, Rachel, her parents and grandparents, the Dorings, and a few other members were standing in a circle with their drinks telling stories of their vacations.

Because Buster was such a high producer, placing large amounts of premium with various insurance companies, he was constantly in the top five or ten agents for volume within those companies. And the industry rewards the very top producers with very lavish annual trips based on their production.

So while Buster lived a modest life in a modest home and modest neighborhood, about three or four times a year he would have an all expense paid first class trip with other top producers and their wives to exotic locations. Maldives, Croatia, Morocco, France, Tokyo, Spain, New Zealand, even one very special trip was to the Vatican.

Rachel, of course, soaked up all the commendation her husband received from those organizations during their awards ceremony held at one of those locations. Everything was first-class, everything was paid.

Mind you, she had no idea the work that went into producing such high levels of insurance. She took her husband for granted. Her ego would not permit her to put two and two together to arrive at the conclusion that she was married to a Top of the Table MDRT member, a very prestigious and the highest level of membership.

So within the social circle relating their latest vacations, attempting to appear humble and ordinary as if the wealth they spread around was what everyone did, as if it was normal, Rachel decided to relate her and Buster's latest trip to Istanbul, Turkey.

But did she give any credit to how they got there, by way of Buster's amazing work?

Not only did she not even mention Buster, but just then Mr. Personality came up and put his arm across her shoulder and said "Hey everyone, what's going on? Is little Buster telling vacation stories to try and get in with the cool kids?

Connor smirked his bright white toothy grin at Buster while the rest of the group - including Rachel - laughed uproariously.

Buster did not smile. He looked at Rachel with her head back laughing at him, then over to his father-in-law Gordon, then over to Rachel's grandfather, Griffin. Griffin was a serious and wise man, quite successful in his past life and enjoying his travels in retirement. He held Buster's eye. He was not laughing.

Buster turned and walked away and drove home, leaving his wife to find herself a ride.

Well how do you handle that? A man provides for his household, does the "have-to's"" that all good men do even though they don't want to, perhaps work in harder or crappier jobs than they wish, because they love their family. It's the man's duty.

So when the person closest to the good man decides to cop a different attitude, what do you do? Perhaps put up with it, at times address it and try to resolve it. But doesn't that take the other person's cooperation?

A few hours later a car pulled into the driveway and Rachel, her father, and grandfather walked in the house. Just before Rachel was about to unload on Buster for leaving her, Gordon launched a verbal tirade at Buster.

"How dare you leave my daughter alone, stranding her! Who do you think you are? No wonder you were born poor, you deserved it you little asswipe! You should get on your knees and beg her forgiveness right NOW!"

Rachel stood there with her arms folded, smirking and smug, enjoying the efforts to further humiliate her husband.

"Gordon, this is my house so don't dare threaten me in my own home, the home I bought on my own with my own money that I earned myself. Why do you think I left my ungrateful and disloyal wife behind?"

Gordon was not expecting blowback from his son-in-law, and just as he opened his mouth with a retort Buster cut in.

"Your daughter has been all over the world because of me, not you. It's because I've earned every one of those first class trips, all expenses paid. I EARNED them through my hard work, through my honesty, through my diligent efforts to do the right thing for my clients and that's why I have so much business.

"You laugh at me with your rich friends as if what I do is worthless? My own wife doesn't appreciate my work and laughs at me? And who makes the joke but a truly dishonest insurance agent named Connor who you all think is God's gift!

"So fuck you, and if you don't like what I provide for my wife you can take her back with you."

Rachel and her father were speechless, however, her Grandfather had walked into Buster's office and was looking at all the awards and pictures on the wall.

"Buster, these awards and pictures, are these due to your work? What is "Top of the Table"?

In a calmer voice, still glaring at his father in law, Buster replied "It's the highest level of membership within the Million Dollar Round Table. You have to produce more than six times the level of the base requirements for membership and meet a rigorous set of performance criteria. Only four percent of MDRT members internationally are Top of Table."

Turning around and looking at his son, grandfather Griffin said, "I must not have raised you right if you think hard work like this and the rewards this young man has earned should be mocked."

As he walked toward the door to leave he passed his granddaughter. "Young lady, you're on thin ice with me and probably your husband. I don't think you even know the value of the man you married."

Buster looked with disgust at his wife, "I'm going to start packing for the bike race this weekend."

Buster loved bike riding from a young age. It was a way to get away from his troubles. Going to school hungry, difficulty with some subjects, fights with bullies - although he did enjoy kicking ass and handling his anger issues in a physical fashion. He resented having to work after school instead of playing video games like the other guys.

Bicycle riding made him feel free with the breeze in his face, the distance he could go away from his trailer park, the freedom of the ride. Eventually he got into mountain biking for the thrills, the focus, the exercise. This got him into physical training so he could handle the endurance for either long rides, physically demanding rides, even falls.

The early morning of the Iceman ride, Buster returned from the diner to the hotel to retrieve his toiletry bag. As he walked down the hallway to his room, he thought "maybe I'll catch her naked. She won't like it, she'll be surprised, but it's always a good sight." His smile dropped when he had an additional thought, "Yeah, it'd be nice to see her body again, for a change." Physical intimacy had markedly declined.

"I'll get her on my GoPro, and when I edit my race I'll put this at the beginning just to tease her and edit it out when I post this up on YouTube and Facebook."

As he was putting in his keycard he thought he heard music in the room, "probably because she's in the shower."

When he entered the room, there was music, yep. There was also something else. Actually, someone else:

A man.

Standing behind his wife, who was on all fours with her ass sticking off the end of the bed.

Because of the music, they did not hear the keycard entry. They didn't hear Buster either because he was stunned. Speechless. Frozen in place from shock, his muscles in paralysis.

So involved was Rachel and the stranger that they made no effort to reduce the cheek slapping, the bodies squelching their juices together in that sloppy, squishy noise, the man's grunts and Rachel's moans.

His hands on her hips helping pull and push

"Tell me who's ass is this Rachel. Tell me bitch!"

"It's yours Conner! All the time, it's yours!"

"That's right! And who's paying for the room I'm fucking you in? Say it!"

"My husband. Ooohh, yes, right there!"

"That's right. And every time he takes you out of town for one of his sissy tricycle rides like a little boy, who is fucking you in his room, in his bed. Say it. Say it!!!!"

With moans and grunts close to climaxing, Rachel blurted out "YOU. Its you Conner, you fuck me in my husband's hotel bed that he pays for. Oh yes, I'm close!"

Connor flipped Rachel over on her back, her large tits jiggling as she landed. In no time he had her legs over his shoulders as he reinserted and was thrusting away.

"Uhh, uhh, uhh, yeah, uh-huh, yeah" Rachel kept gasping with her mouth open, her eyes closed, her head thrown back with her brunette hair splashed all over the pillow, her mouth hanging open.

"Oooh, uh, uh, Ooooh," she moaned as she raised her head to look at the dick penetrating her, slicing in and out, in and out as her boobs jiggled up and down in sync with the thrusts. She continued to look down, "Ugh, ugh, uh, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum."

Her gasps became a little cramped as Conner wrapped his hand around her throat, her eyes closing in that moment and mouth opening, his thrusts becoming quicker.

"Oh, God. Oh, my God! Oooh, so good. Conner, you're a fucking animal. Oh, my God! Oooohhh, Oh my god, oh my god." She could feel him getting close, his load beginning to fill his cock. "Oh my God I'm gonna cum!" as he humped ever more vigorously, her statement sending him over the edge. as his voice urgently and hoarsely rasped 'uhhh, uhhh, uhhh."

Was this an erotic sight? Maybe for some with that kind of fetish, but not for Buster. Buster was a one-man one-woman kind of guy. In fact, he told that to his future father-in-law when a prenup was pushed in front of him prior to the wedding.

"I respect your view there Buster, but with your background I must be careful with anyone that might take advantage of my family's wealth. I'm sure you understand."

By this time Buster had written enough insurance for estate planning purposes that he had met enough attorneys and read enough documents to be able to review the prenup. It was written in such a way that if either spouse cheated they'd get very little. All-in-all, a fair document.

* * * *

In post-coital bliss, Rachel and Conner laid on the bed, moving to the side of the wet spot, their backs to the door where they couldn't see Buster who continued to be frozen in his spot.

"Oh you fuckin' minx. You wear me out each time I'm pounding you, and it's still early in the morning. Shit, I don't know if I'll be able to make it until the cuck comes back."

"We've got all morning and most of the afternoon babe. We can order room service too. Just relax and get your energy up. It isn't like during the week when we have to hurry to get back to work."

"Room service sounds good, just like when we take those long lunches at work!" Connor began laughing, "Good thing you're the one that approves my expense reports at the company. I love how our hotel rooms and room service lunches are "marketing expenses." I laugh every time I get my reimbursement check.!"

"It works out well for both of us, Connor. We've got it down to a science, the only downfall is that you have to stay in that sales development role all these years in order to get our fucking sessions paid for."

"Yeah, but it does give me some freedom outside of the office and as long as I meet my sales quota I don't have to answer for where I am. These past five years have been great. I get my balls emptied, my anxiety is reduced, it's great physical exercise when I'm with you, and our bodies just fit together so well!"

"They do, they do," Rachel smiled as she leaned over to her lover, laying her leg across him as if she owned him.

"Speaking about my quota, Rachel, before I forget, next time we fuck at your home I need to get inside Buster's locked office again and go through his files for more leads, ok?"

Exhaling a frustrating sigh, Rachel replied, "Connor, can't you just find your own leads and referrals? He has his office locked for regulatory reasons. You know that! Sooner or later he'll wonder why some of his clients are replacing their life policies with something from your company. You're playing a dangerous game."

"More dangerous than screwing his wife? Come on, Rachel. It's worked so far, hasn't it?"

"I'm not sure about that. You know how much work he puts into every fact-find to make sure he's doing the right thing for his clients? And how much he educates them? Then you come in a year or two later and bad-mouth him and imply he cheated them to get them to replace what he sold them. Did you know one of those clients called him?"

"Huh? No, when did this happen?"

"Last week, he had his office door open and had a client on his speaker yelling at him at how he ripped him off, and how he might report him to the insurance board for fraud. Buster couldn't talk him down, the man was so worked up."

Amused, Connor gave a slight chuckle, "Serves the cuck right for being too honest and goody-two-shoes to his clients."

Rachel layed there wondering if Connor was treading into dangerous territory. Buster was honest, thorough, and did excellent work and received a lot of referrals. There's no way any bad report to the Insurance Bureau would have a negative impact on him after any investigation. But could that investigation backfire and reveal what Connor had been doing?

"Anyway, how about wrapping those luscious lips around my cock and get me ready for our next round?"

Rachel sat up with a grin, leaned over and....

"How long have I been watching Rachel's adultery?"

This was the thought that brought Buster's mind back to reality, that this was real.

This was worse than riding full speed on a new trail and coming across a sudden downhill ride over the drops created by huge tree roots over which would be a foot drop or more onto more roots and drops, culminating in a bending berm to navigate.

Still dazed, or perhaps in a fog, he quietly backed away from the doorway and grabbed his toiletry kit from the bathroom and left the hotel. Somehow running on automatic, somehow he ended up at the event's parking lot and had unloaded his bike, somehow had pinned his number to his jersey, and was now aimlessly walking around.

He had the feeling there were two of him. One walking on the ground, and one hovering above in the air where it seemed like he was looking down on himself, seeing him walk around quickly, at times stomping, muttering to himself, at times even a short sprint then a stop, then crouching down with his hands on his head.

"Hey Buster, you ok?" some voice said.

Looking up he saw another rider, Karen. She was a tall, athletic blue-eyed blonde divorcee at 30 years old who loved to ride. They'd frequently be at the same events, at times pairing up on the long gravel rides.

"Huh?" he responded with a blank face.

Concerned, she squatted down to look at him. "Buster, what's going on? You look rattled. Are you nervous about this race? We've ridden this course three years in a row, you've got this!" she said, trying to be reassuring.

"I'm in the 23'rd wave. Which one are you?"

Just then the loudspeaker called the 15th wave to their spot in the chute, awaiting the horn. Buster grunted and rode his bike into the chute, leaving a perplexed Karen behind.

The out-of-body Buster looked down on the rider and could feel his heartbeat already furiously pumping blood through the veins, capillaries, and lungs. The body was not hyperventilating, but somehow the lungs were already expanding and contracting in pace with the heart and legs, something that usually starts to kick in two or three miles into a race.

Buster snapped the SPD cleat of his right foot into his Crank Brothers flat wide pedals while balancing on his left, awaiting the horn. He preferred SPD cleats on wide pedals for the extra stability he preferred on mountain bikes. Most riders seemed to use eggbeater cleats due to the shorter width and float.

The IceMan has 5,000 riders registered each year, made up of about 50 waves of 100 riders that leave every three minutes. The race number on your bike has a chip that lets the organizers know your start/finish time.

The air horn sounded, and the 15th wave of 100 riders left, meaning there were over a thousand riders ahead of Buster. He could imagine how the trail would already be torn up a little from all those wheels.

Fortunately, the less experienced riders are in the later waves, so those ahead of him would likely be better riders. Passing less experienced riders, those who tire easily or freak out quickly can be dangerous.

The more experienced riders, though, can also be dangerous because they don't want to give up their spot on the trail, their line, so they can be more aggressive and are focused on their race time than the less experienced riders who simply want to finish the grueling 30 miles..

Add to this the popularity of the race, with the 12,000 patrons lined all along the trail in camping chairs, ringing cowbells, offering food and drink to the riders. The drink can be beer or bourbon shots, and many riders make a big deal of that. Some end up pulling off the trail and throwing up given the exertion from navigating the trail, the intensity of mountain bike riding, and what goes on in one's stomach when water, protein bars, and beer or bourbon get mixed under pressure.

It makes for a great ride!

Very quickly Buster navigated around the first 50 or so riders in his wave who were just starting out, whereas his body was already working at full efficiency. But it didn't seem he was seeing any of those riders. All he saw was his wife violating his trust, willingly letting her body be violated by someone else and - she was enjoying it!

Have you ever been driving your car with your mind elsewhere, then suddenly find out you've driven ten miles and can't remember any of it? Now you know the zone Buster was in!

As he crossed the five-mile mark he was flying down a double-track, flipping over the median hump back and forth to pass rider-upon-rider. "Get out of here! Gotta go, gotta get away."

Where was this voice coming from? It was pushing, pushing, pushing him ahead. His body responded to this sense of urgency to get away, ride faster, even escape!

He heard a voice screaming "Left, left! Move over asshole!" as he blew past a rider. He heard a voice way behind him yell "fuck you jerk!"

This happened frequently. "Why? Whose voice is that?" He didn't recognize his own voice, his body was running on automatic. His thumb clicking gears up and down perfectly matching the bike to trail conditions, his legs seeming to effortlessly push and pull for ultimately efficiency when clipped into the pedals.

He didn't feel the cold, he didn't feel his perspiration, he didn't hear the cowbells from the spectators, he didn't feel the trepidation when blasting into a berm or riding a ridge or making a dangerous pass on the trail's edge.

With five miles to go he hit the uphill incline, not too much of a grade at first but it would be an endurance run, complicated by riders ahead slowing down or wobbling or weaving back and forth.

The last thing a rider wants to do is stop on an uphill incline. Getting started again is so difficult that some simply walk their bikes up to the next flat plateau and hop back on before the next of the uphills.

But somehow Buster was in a groove and his gear changes and terrain navigation round all these barriers had him passing rider after rider. The out--of-body rider looking down on Buster wondered just how many riders he had passed.

Eventually he crested the third hill and it was flat riding to the end, just another couple miles until hitting the barrier chutes guiding the riders to the finish line, the chutes lined with cheering spectators encouraging each rider, cheering them on.

As Buster entered the chute it seemed he was in a zone of silence, hearing nothing.

Up ahead was concrete pavement and a sharp right turn and another two hundred yards of barrier chute to ride to the finish line. He could see other riders skidding around the corner and crashing, riding too fast into the wet and dirt covered corner of slippery concrete.

In his mental auto-mode Buster recognized the slippery surface ahead but did not slow down. Instead, with thirty feet before the corner he gripped his hydraulic disk brakes and locked up his wheels while simultaneously sliding his bike sideways into the corner, much like a car might drift into a corner.

The spectators were watching this scene with trepidation at this very unusual move, having seen so many crashes already in this corner.

Just as he was about to get to the corner he released his brakes and started pedaling hard as the bike was still in a controlled sideways skid only now it was beginning to move forward!

He came out of that turn right side up and pedaled hard toward the finish line. The spectators were all screaming with delight at that incredible move, many happy to have got it on video!

The riders behind him were in awe of that move while they all slowed to a crawl to navigate the slippery turn themselves.

As Buster flew across the finish line with his time marked at 1:53:26 he rode another 50 feet and slowed down, unclipped his feet and hopped off his bike and tried running. His mind seemed to tirelessly keep emphasizing, "run, run, run away, gotta get away."

But while his body used every bit of energy to hold up during an amazing 30 mile mountain bike ride, passing hundreds of riders, turning in an amazing time, it had no more energy to expend.

He fell to his knees, his lungs no longer functioning, gasping for air. The EMTs hired to provide first-aid rushed to his side and put an oxygen mask on him. "Get some electrolytes in him!" yelled another rider who had tried to keep up with Buster's ride and had just crossed the finish line.

Other riders were coming in, some swearing at him for his aggressive riding, others mocking his fitness, some upset at his recklessness on the trail. A crowd had gathered around him when Karen crossed the finish line 30 minutes later, still at a respectable time.

She knelt next to Buster and helped him sit up after his lungs had caught up with his body's need for oxygen. In the 36 degree temperature he was bathed in sweat from the exertion. "Let's get you to the showers and cleaned up."

She asked one of the race volunteers to get his duffel bag from the storage arrangement setup for the cyclists and bring it to one of the small cabins. The end of the race was in a campground, and there were several small cabins the riders could rent for a few minutes to clean up from all the mud and sweat.

Karen had her bag brought as well. "Buster, what the hell were you doing? You could have been killed!"

"I, I, I, I saw something and had to run from it. I couldn't stop. I can't get it out of my mind."

Perplexed at the mysterious comments of her friend, she got the shower warmed up and helped peel off Buster's jersey, a difficult job for a rider bathed in sweat.

"Buster, you need to get the rest of your kit off." Buster just stood there glassy-eyed, so Karen took a deep breath and pulled his shorts off, revealing his bare ass and penis. There was no eroticism in the moment, and Buster was not in any mood for a hard-on.

She tried to push him into the shower, but it was difficult. Again, sighing and recognizing something was very, very wrong, she too got undressed and the two naked bodies stood under the hot water together. She soaped him up, and then herself, then rinsed them both off and helped him dry off.

Somewhere along this process his wits began to return to him. Though naked and dry, he collapsed on the floor crying. A naked Karen wrapped her arms around him and rocked him.

Was she turned on? Maybe. She did admire his broad shoulders and toned torso. Viewing his dick, or rather it might better be classified as a "cock," was difficult to ignore-especially because he had been waxed. It was probably average size and maybe a wider girth than average, but it looked beautiful.

Karen's ex-husband had been not only violent, but underdeveloped between his legs and tried to make up for it with aggression in the bedroom and in other situations. Eventually she had the courage to leave him and hadn't been with a man or in a relationship in several years.

"What happened Buster? Tell me."

As his cries turned to sobs, he was able to say, "Back at the hotel I walked in on Rachel and another guy having sex. And the things they said about me were... "

He didn't finish the sentence, but Karen knew how devoted and reliable a husband he was. She had met Rachel at several events and frankly, she didn't like Rachel. She felt she was conceited, took credit for things her husband actually provided, and acted better than everyone else including her own husband.

But she also noticed Rachel was a flirt and enjoyed the attention of other male cyclists, especially when Buster would leave the evening pre-race party to retire early for the next days' race event.

"I don't know what to say, Buster. That's terrible, no one should ever have to experience that."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as they both had to compose themselves.

"Well Karen, thanks for how you've helped me here. I don't know what I would have done without you, and obviously I put you in a difficult situation here. I'm sorry."

"Hey, what are friends for but to help get undressed and showered?," she responded with a laugh.

That broke the ice and they got up and got dressed, not without a few peeks at each other's nakedness.

"I'm heading straight home, I've got to figure out what I'm going to do, how I'm going to handle this. Thanks again, Karen, you're a good friend. Just telling someone has helped clear my head."

"Hey, call me if I can help. You have my number."

Buster loaded up his bike on the Sprinter Van and was about to head down I-75 back to Ann Arbor when he remembered he'd reserved the hotel room for several days in Traverse City so he could visit several long-time clients while he was in northern Michigan. He had also intended to enjoy some time together with his wife over those days.

So he sat in the Sprinter and called those clients who he intended to visit over the next few days. He had to cancel, but he made sure to give them the reason why.

One of these, Ed and Edith Worthington, moved up to Traverse City from Birmingham, the high-end Detroit suburb. Traverse City is a beautiful place to retire. It's somewhat urban, and within minutes one can be in the gorgeous rural areas, even 45 minutes to Lake Michigan and the Leelanau Peninsula.

"Ed, it's Buster. Listen, I have to cancel our appointment and get back with you in a few weeks when I can come up again. Something very important has come up."

"OK Buster, thanks for letting us know, we were looking forward to seeing you. We hope everything is ok."

"Nothing's ok Ed. Nothing at all."

"Buster, you don't sound well at all. What's up? You've helped us so much, given us such peace of mind with our estate, tell me what's going on and how we can help you."

Ed could tell something dire had happened.

Taking a deep breath, Buster unloaded on Ed, telling him absolutely everything he saw with his wife's adultery. His voice was loaded with emotion, the anger, the deep hurt, the confusion, the pain. Ed could tell the voice on the phone was close to tears.

"Buster, we're so sorry this happened. Listen, don't go anywhere but drive up and stay with us tonight. We can help you. Text Rachel and give her some excuse why you won't be back tonight.

An hour later Buster arrived at the Worthington's with Ed and Edith, who happened to be high-end divorce attorneys prior to their retirement.

Edith said comforting things to help settle Buster's emotions, that things can work out for him in the future but it required planning, just like he did for them with their finances and estate planning. It will give him peace of mind for the future.

"But I don't know what those things are, Edith. I'm going to sell my home. I'll even take less than what it's worth. I just can't go in there any more. And feelings of revenge are pretty strong, so to be an asshole to my cheating slut I'm thinking of moving all my stuff out and putting all her things in storage. I think I know where I can rent a small apartment.

"It would serve her right to get home to an empty home that she no longer can live in!"

"Well you're certainly making some quick moves, and that's good Buster. But you need to get the divorce paperwork in place very quickly. Rachel comes from a wealthy family. They own that factory and make a lot of money and will come after you quickly. Let's write down a list of what we want you to get together when you get home, and Ed's calling one of the scariest divorce attorneys we used to work with. She'll meet you at your home."

Edith was a great cook, and the meal and friendship was just what he needed for a good night's sleep.

After a full night's sleep and breakfast he headed out. About halfway down Interstate 75 he pulled off at Claire, Michigan which is the exact center of the State and went into the White House for lunch..

It is a very old hamburger joint on the main drag of the small town. You walk in and the 70 year old grill is just to the left, and only about four booths on the right. But the burgers are some of the best in the State of Michigan.

As he enjoyed his olive burger, fries and shake, he mulled over his situation. The initial shock had worn off and a clearer head now prevailed.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Heidi? How are you? Are you and Ron home? Can you guys talk to me on your speaker phone?"

Heidi was Buster's aesthetician that did his waxing. Yep, he got his nose, back, and butt waxed. He also got a manzilian. Yep, no pubic dental floss for any woman giving him head, though that hadn't happened in a long, long time. And he was married! Sounds painful, but it feels great when it's done, and in the past he had hoped his wife would have appreciated it.

"I'm wondering if the in-law quarters in your home are still available for rent? I'm interested if it's available and if you'd rent it to me."

"Of course," Ron said. "We know you well, it's available and we'd have no problem renting to you. But what's up? You have a home already."

"Not after tomorrow, I'm selling it and divorcing Rachel. I need a place to stay and might even be able to move my stuff in this evening if possible."

"Wow" was all that Heidi and Ron could say at the moment. "Sure, come on over, we're home all weekend. I'll get the lease ready."

While enjoying his fries in the small, quaint restaurant he called another of his clients, a very successful Realtor.

"George, Buster here. How fast can you sell my house?"

"Buster! Good to hear from you! Usually sellers don't get to the point so quickly, so Buster, what's up?

"Here's a brief summary of yesterday, and why I need my house sold today or tomorrow."

Buster explained the situation, the type and size of his house and how fast he wanted it sold and closed, even by tomorrow, a Monday. He was told if he was willing to take a little less than they'd usually offer, they could get it done with one of the investors George worked with.

His next call was to the local franchise of Two Men and A Truck, who he arranged to meet in two hours when he got home. His first priority was to get his home office completely moved into Heidi and Ron's along with his clothing and other personal items.

By 8pm he was moved in at Ron and Heidi's and got his office setup in the small living room. He downloaded his GoPro video and did some editing, while the movers went back to the home and were busy packing up all of his wife's belongings, the remaining furniture, and unloading it all into a storage unit. Buster met them there with a lock for the unit, and paid them double for the quick work they made of everything.

Tuesday morning he went back to what would be his former home for one last look. He remembered his mom, and how she would have loved to have lived here. But the memories he now had of this home, where he had brought his bride across the threshold, the bedroom where they christened their marriage, those memories were now all adulterated just like their marriage.

The investor showed up with a title company closer and closing papers. A hold-back escrow was arranged due to the quickness of the sale, where a proper title search had not yet been completed. This was standard procedure, and Buster knew his title was clear, and George the Realtor had vouched for Buster's honesty..

After shaking hands, he asked the new owner for a favor, "Listen, I have had cameras in my home for years because of the work I do. I have to maintain confidentiality of my files, so I'll show you where the cameras are, but I'd like to keep them running the next few days and with your permission come back another day and remove them, or, you can keep them if you wish.

"Also, I left the TV with a USB plugged in. The remote will turn it on and automatically play. Here's what I'd like you to do."

The new owner smiled at the deviousness of the request.

Buster then drove to the nearby coney island restaurant to meet with his new attorney, Scarlett Jennings. (In Michigan, a "coney island" is a diner and also a type of hot dog with chili). Clearly this woman was a shark, and after signing the engagement letter and giving her a big retainer, Buster found out that many of the things he had already done were even better than the shark expected.

His agency was untouchable in the Caymans. His income draws were low enough, so close to his wife's income, that little to no alimony would be required. She had no idea how huge his commissions had been, yet isolated in foreign banks. His home was in his name only, purchased prior to marriage. All that was at risk was the joint accounts with minimal balances, the majority of his money was in the Caymans.

And the pre-nup his father in law made his sign wrapped up most everything else.

While with the attorney he logged into the two joint credit cards and paid them off, then cancelled them. Coincidentally, one of these was also the one he used to reserve the hotel room and room service charges.

With all this information Scarlett the shark attorney wore that all-knowing smile, one of confidence, smelling blood. This new client of hers had his shit together. She agreed to rush back to her office, prepare the divorce petition, and await Buster telling her when and where to have Rachel served.

* * * *

The Grand Traverse Resort and Spa is a 17-story glass tower, sticking up far above anything in the surrounding area. With views of either Grand Traverse Bay or the valley, it's a high-end lodging experience for visitors to Traverse City, Michigan.

Visitors love summer around the Leelanau Peninsula - the wine tours, the Cherry Festival in the late summer, and all the winter sports one could want. Michigan residents understand that the expression "up north" means the upper portion of the lower peninsula of Michigan, as compared to the Upper Peninsula which is across the Mackinac Bridge.

The race-day Saturday's late afternoon sun was shining into the illicit lover's room, a room smelling of sex and musty sheets, a hint of dried wine in used wine glasses.

The lovers had fallen asleep, exhausted from their sexual activity all morning and afternoon, satisfying their carnal urges, urges made so much more erotic and exciting due to the secret and illicit nature of their relationship. The dirty sex talk and especially the demeaning talk toward Rachel's husband helped the lovers achieve climax, followed by the post-coital letdown.

The setting sun shone in Rachel's face, awakening her. Groggily she sat up, glancing at the clock. It was almost 4pm. "Hey Connor, get up. We've got to clean up this place and get a housekeeper in here to change the sheets. Come on. Get up."

She looked for her phone, and logged into the race site to see how Buster had done with his timing so she could get a sense of when he'd be back. It was already late.

Her body jerked upright. Almost screaming, she said "Holy Shit!"

Connor quickly awoke and sat up. "What? What's wrong?"

"Buster ran the course in 1:51!! That's one of the best times ever! It's incredible!"

"Are you sure it's correct?"

Looking at her lover with a frown and skeptical look, she said, "Duh, what do you think? Every rider's race number is chipped. His time is right. But that means he may be home earlier than we think. Get up and get out of here. We've got to clean up this mess fast!"

The couple quickly went about getting a housekeeper to change the sheets while they straightened up the room, expecting Buster back in about an hour or so.

But he never showed up. Rachel surfed through the TV channels mindlessly, wondering where her husband was, and he was not answering his phone nor was his FindMyPhone app working.

She went downstairs to look for him in the lobby bar where many of the cyclists usually gather. There were plenty of people there, but no Buster. She asked a few people, who said they had not seen him but gave her their congratulations for the race he ran. Some even told stories of the seeming smoothness of his ride through the tricky areas, and even showed the video of his drifting turn into the last hard corner near the finish line.

Rachel had never really paid much attention to Buster's riding, as she had other matters to attend to, mainly Connor. But watching her husband handle that bike so well was impressive. She smiled and thanked everyone for their regards.

Karen was at the bar enjoying her beer when she glanced around and her eyes caught those of Rachel. Rachel nodded her head up in recognition and walked over, having seen Karen at other events.

"Karen is it? I think we met at a few other events?"

With a deadpan expression, Karen replied, "Uh-huh" and simply looked at Rachel.

"Weird," thought Rachel, "what's up with this woman?"

Rachel asked, "Hey, did you happen to see my husband? I think you know Buster?"

"Yeah, I saw him after the race."

"Yeesh," thought Rachel, "can this bitch talk or do I have to ask everything?"

Rachel asked, "Have you seen him since leaving the course? I'm trying to find him."

"Nope," she replied, but her look changed to something like women sometimes put on, something like "you're a fucking bitch and I'm better than you."

The answer and look was disconcerting to Rachel, not thinking she did anything wrong to merit such a reaction. She simply said "Ok, thanks." and walked away.

She called Connor on his cell phone, "Connor, something's wrong. No one has seen Buster and he's not down here either. He's not answering his phone. What should I do?"

"Damn girl, if we knew he wasn't back we could have fit in a few more rounds with that ass of yours!"

"C'mon Buster, I'm serious. This isn't like Buster. He's really scheduled, you know what I mean? If he says he'll be somewhere at a specific time, he's usually early. This isn't like him."

"You've got that right. The little cuck is so organized, so predictable. Hey, when do you think you can get me back into his office? Next week maybe?"

Frustrated, Rachel snapped back "Fuck you Connor! I'm worried here and all you can think about is how to steal more of my husband's business? You're such an asshole!"

"Relax babe, don't be such a bitch. We've been doing this for years so don't go getting all righteous on me. I don't know where he is or why he's late. Apparently no one does. So just play along and wait, eventually the little cuck will show up."

The negative reference to her husband somehow hurt her feelings. Buster had run in the top 15 timing of the Iceman race, a huge accomplishment, and he wasn't around to receive all the well-wishers. She wanted to kiss and reward him because she loved the attention she received from those same well-wishers.

"I'm proud of my husband," was a passing thought, followed by, "what the hell do I do while I wait?"

She decided to go into the hotel restaurant and order dinner and wait around for Buster. But by the time dinner was done, no Buster. No phone answer. No text response.

Returning to her room on the way out of the restaurant she met Karen on the way to the elevators and asked her if Buster had said if he was going somewhere. Karen gave a cryptic response:

"Yeah, your husband was going somewhere. He kept saying "I've gotta run. I've gotta run."

Then Karen shrugged her shoulders and stepped off the elevator at her floor, leaving Rachel even more confused.

"When he shows up I'm going to rip him a new asshole. I could have been having more orgasms all night long if I knew he wasn't going to be here. Fuck is he ever going to pay for this!"

On the way to the room her phone pinged with a text:

Hey Babe, a small group found out that we can ride Copper Harbor tomorrow only, so we're headed directly up there. Sorry for the short notice, but enjoy the spa and shopping in TC! I'll be back Thursday to pick you up and head home.

One might imagine a wife might be upset at such a late message, but of course, Rachel and Connor rejoiced at the extra time they'd have together, on Buster's dime.

One might also imagine the activity in that room over the next few days.

Checkout time was 10 am Thursday and Rachel had packed up both her and her husband's belongings and headed down to checkout. At the counter she asked if there were any messages from her husband.

"There are no messages ma'am. But also, we need a credit card for the room and service charges."

"Huh? What do you mean? My husband had a card on file!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but that card was declined, it appears to be a closed account."

Dear reader, have you ever had a credit card declined in public while you were in line with people behind you assuming you have bad credit, or didn't pay your bill, or are over your limit?

Humiliated, Rachel stuttered and offered a half-baked explanation, asking for the card to be re-run several times. Eventually a manager asked her to step aside on behalf of other guests, where he could handle the matter privately.

"Mrs. Baker, you simply can use another card or even a debit card to pay the bill."

"I don't have another card. My husband does all this for me."

"If you cannot pay your room charges, Mrs. Baker, it will be legally uncomfortable for both you and me. Please see if you can make arrangements but do not leave the area."

He called security to keep a watch over her, while Rachel called Connor.

"Connor, where are you? I need your help. I can't pay the hotel bill! You need to cover me!"

"What? I'm not paying your bill, your little cuck does that! What's going on? Isn't he there?"

"Hey you little fucker, I'm in a jam here. Get over here and help me out!"

"Rachel, what the fuck! I don't pay your bills, the cuck does. How would it look if I paid the hotel bill for you? How would I get repaid? Are you gonna tell Buster that your lover paid for your room? How would you explain that? And where is the little man anyways?"

"Connor, I'm desperate. I don't know where he is and frankly, I'm worried. He should have been back by now. I'm in a jam here and need your help! Please?"

"Then call your Dad. It would make more sense. But I'm not paying the bill for you."

Rachel hung up the phone, upset that it was simply a push of a button. She would have preferred slamming down the receiver on him, but those days are gone.

"Daddy, I'm in a jam and need your help." She explained to her Dad how her husband disappeared, how the joint credit card was declined, and her need to pay the hotel. The manager took her Daddy's credit card information and permitted her to check out.

Only this just led to the next problem. Buster's vehicle was not there. So she called Connor once more and begged for a ride home, which he was willing to do.

"But Rachel, if we turn the corner and his car is in the driveway, I'm dropping you off and you'll have to walk home because I don't want him seeing me.."

Rachel agreed, then also called her Dad back and told him how she was getting home. Her Dad was pissed at these events and told her he'd meet her there to try and figure out what is going on.

It was a quiet five hour drive, interrupted by Connor pulling off at a rest stop and parking far away from other cars. "You've got to pay for the ride babe," he said to Rachel as he pulled her head down into his lap.

Normally Rachel loved being dominated by Connor, but at the moment she had a lot of anxiety and worry over the last few days of no communication with her husband, the cancelled credit card, his success on the ride, her illegitimate romance with Connor.

But with his hand holding her head down, her feelings were more like, "let's just get this over with." so she opened his belt and unzipped his pants and boxers. He was already erect with a small droplet of pre-cum oozing from the tip. She quickly sucked the shaft into her mouth.

She looked up at him and he was staring down at her while she lubed his shaft with her spit, her hand moving up and down the shaft as she swirled his head with her tongue. Eventually she changed her pace and moved her head up and down on his rod as he closed his eyes to enjoy the job she was doing.

Connor's hands grabbed her head and held her in place as he took control and started to fuck her mouth. Her angry eyes looked up at him as he plunged deeper to the back of her throat. He saw those angry eyes start to water and her face get red, which turned him on. Rachel could tell what was about to happen but had no control as her head was held in place when he started to spurt his jism into her mouth. She had no choice but to swallow.

"You mother fucker!" she spat at him, angry at the mess he made, angry at the situation she was in, angry at not being in control. Connor laughed, zipped up, and got back on the highway.

As they turned the corner onto her street, he slowed the car down to see if Buster's car was in the driveway, which it was not. However, a nice Escalade was sitting there. "I think you should get out here and walk down the street."

"Fuck you Connor. I'm not dragging all this luggage down my own street in front of the neighbors. Just pull up and let me out. Even if he's home he'll know I would have had to get a ride."

Once Rachel was out of the car with both sets of luggage Connor quickly pulled away. "What a chicken-shit," she felt about Connor, scared and running away. "Just a big talker. Why the hell do I hang out with that loser?" she wondered.

She pulled out her key for the front door. It didn't fit. She looked once again to ensure she had the right key when the door opened from the inside by a strange man.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, for some reason my key doesn't work. Anyways, thanks for opening my door," as she attempted to cross the threshold. Only, the man was not moving.

"Who are you ma'am, and what are you doing here?"

"Huh?" Rachel looked confused. "I'm Rachel Baker, I live here."

"Oh, yeah, I see now. Rachel, you used to live here but not anymore."

"What? I don't understand."

"I'm the new owner. I bought the home from Buster and closed on it this week. Come in for a minute, I have something for you. Just leave your bags on the porch outside."

Stunned, Rachel left the luggage and entered the home, realizing "This is no longer my home? The home that my husband carried me in over the threshold the night of our wedding, the home that once had warmth and laughter, is empty? The smell of my home has been replaced by the smell of the carpet cleaning solution, this home is not homey at all!

"Any memories we had made have been removed, the home looks as if no one has ever lived here. I can picture Buster in different parts of the home," as she looked around the empty space, with a sad smile at those memories, but the reality was that it was only a memory, not reality. He was gone, departed.

His scent, his toiletries, his clothes hanging in the closet, the wall pictures of them in happy times, even his well-organized office - all of it gone.

"Why? What happened? Where was he? I'm so confused but also so frightened. Buster was so dependable, so rock-solid for me. None of this is like him."

She began to have serious doubts about her marriage, thinking "I know there were times I stepped over the line with him, and he stood firm. Though I didn't like that at all, I like to get my way, I respected him for his stand on principle.

"Could it have been some of the dismissive remarks of my Dad? Or maybe me going along with my Dad? Did he think I was taking sides against him?"

It hit her that she actually had taken sides against her own husband. She felt shame and a little bit of fear.

Rachel walked around the empty home with all these thoughts colliding in her mind, and eventually got back to the living room where the only remaining item of their life is the large screen TV.

Her Mom and Dad pulled up and came in, shocked at the emptiness of the home. "That low-life asswipe sold the home out from under you? And took all your things? I'll kill the sonofabitch!"

The new investor owner actually laughed at my Dad, who then turned and walked up to him with an angry glare. "Think this is funny, do you?!"

The new owner said, "Yeah, I do. Mr. Baker didn't sell the home out from under his wife. She was never on title, he owned this home long before they were married. She has no legal right to this home."

Dad screamed, "My lawyer will see about that!"

"Waste your money then. Property owned before marriage is considered separate property and is not subject to dower rights. And besides that, in Michigan dower rights were abolished a long time ago.

"But anyways," turning to Rachel, the owner said "after we closed on the sale your husband asked me to do two things. Here's the first:" and the new owner grinned and pressed "play" on the remote.

The TV came to life and prominently displayed Rachel's bare ass in the air as Connor was frantically plowing her, all the while Rachel screaming for more. Quickly, the screen faded to black then another scene of Rachel and Connor on the bed talking and revealing how long the affair has gone on..

Rachel gasped, speechless, her hands covering her mouth. Her father screamed "what the fuck is this!" Her mother said, "Oh, Rachel, how could you!"

Falling to the floor, Rachel began sobbing, which turned into full-blown crying and wailing.

Was it grief? Or rather, was it an embarrassment? Shame? Or, could it be a sense of loss - either materially, or of a relationship? Or was it because things were beginning to now make sense!

Remotely as Buster watched the video feed he couldn't tell, and he realized he didn't really care.

"Look lady, you all have to leave. I'm getting ready to close up the home and put a for sale sign in the front yard. But here's the second thing your husband wanted me to give you."

He handed Rachel an envelope that had a key and an address to the storage locker.

"I believe he moved all your belongings over there."

"Do you know where he is? Where he moved?" she managed to ask through her sobs.

"Yes I do, but I'm under no obligation to tell you and won't. Now get out of my house."

The ride back to her parents home in the high-end wealthy suburb of Birmingham was quiet. Rachel sat in the back seat sobbing. Her father had a tight grip on the steering wheel. Her mother looked out the side window, but once she turned around and looked at her daughter with a mixture of pity and disgust, then sat back once again and looked out the window.

No one could reach Buster. His phone would ring but clearly any of Rachel's or her family's calls and texts were blocked.

Normally one would want to keep such matters private, but in the world of the wealthy clubby elite any bad news attracts gossip like flies on shit. Yes, the uber-wealthy love to brag about their possessions and accomplishments, but it's even juicier to tear down other people.

Buster was not responsible for any of the gossip. He merely met with his attorney to finalize the divorce decree, organize and examine his files and prepare documentation, and meet with a few official characters. Do you wonder who those might be?

But back at the factory and at the club, her father Gordon was fit to be tied about Buster. Before he saw the video he had already spouted off at the club about his worthless son-in-law abandoning his daughter up north. So that bit of info was already out there and spreading.

"How do I protect my fornicating daughter from the gossip? People are going to ask why he left. And that fucking Connor! I hate to admit it but Buster was right about him all along. Shit, this is messy." Gordon was perplexed.

"Connor, Buster knows about us. He has a video of us and knows how long we've been doing it."

"What the fuck Rachel! What are you going to do?"

"What am "I" going to do? You mean what are "we" going to do?"

"Hey, leave me out of it. You're a great piece of ass but I'm not married to him, you are."

"You asshole! You're going to abandon me now? You're in this just as much as I am! Hell, you even stole his clients!"

"No one can prove any of that. The only thing they'll know is how much you liked my dick, and that'll make me look like a stud and you like a slut. So like I said, you're on your own."

Connor hung up on Rachel, who once again slumped down and sobbed.

"Let's just go out to dinner at the club tonight," suggested her father one evening. Rachel was hesitant to go, but that seemed to be her second home, maybe her first now that she didn't have a home to go home to.

As they entered the dining room Rachel could feel the looks, hushed whispers, and see the gleeful smiles of schadenfreude. It was humiliating, a stark departure from her raucous laughter only a few weeks earlier at her husband's expense. She picked at her dinner.

She lifted her head up when she realized the dining room became silent, and what did she see? A woman standing before her with a manilla envelope, legal size. "Are you Rachel Baker?"

"Um, y-yes I am."

"Congratulations, you've been served," she said as she handed the envelope to Rachel.

The room remained silent for moments, awaiting Rachel's reaction. She looked around the room at the people she considered "friends," and realized they weren't really friends. More like vipers. She wanted to run, run away and keep running. But there was nowhere to go. She just had to sit there and take it.

A memory resurfaced of Karen telling her that Buster was saying "gotta run." Could that have been because of her and Connor, their immorality? He must have seen them in person!

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and her emotions burst through in a loud wailing cry, to the sick enjoyment of her "friends" reveling in her downfall. Her mother tried to hug her and take her to the bathroom, but Rachel tried to gather her emotions and just sit still. She didn't want to feel paraded through the room for all onlookers' enjoyment.

"That damn Connor, he must have told everyone what he was doing with Rachel. That's how everyone knows what's going on." Her father was royally pissed.

A week later, Gordon happened across Connor at the bar in the club and took a seat. Connor was nursing a drink, clearly having already had a few. After all that went down between her daughter and soon to be ex-son-in-law Gordon thought perhaps it's time to have that conversation with Connor.

"How's it going Connor?" Gordon asked plainly. "Mind if I join you?" Connor nodded.

"Shit storm. That's how it's going." was a sad reply as he continued looking at his drink.

"Really now? Seems you've been getting all you wanted over the last five years, even before my daughter was married and all the while too. Nothing's come down on you. If anything, you should be happy you and Rachel can be together all the time now."

"Is that what you want Gordon? You want me and Rachel together? It seems you liked it when I was openly flirting with her right in front of her husband. Now you want me to marry her?"

Internally Gordon had a sense of guilt with what Connor just said. He liked Connor, he thought he was funny and the life of the party. But now that his own daughter was cheating with Connor and her marriage, there didn't seem to be much "life" in the party that Connor was serving up.

With a sigh, he put a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Connor, you know I've always liked you. And you probably know I didn't like who my daughter married. But, she was married! I admit I like you teasing Buster, and that probably wasn't right. And maybe my attitude encouraged you to go further with Rachel, I don't know.

"But what's done is done. She's going to be divorced. You two have a thing for each other. So I'm asking, what's the future for both of you?"

"Like I said, Gordon, it's a shit storm now. Buster humiliated Rachel with that video, everyone around the club knows about our affair and her divorce. She's mad at me, and I'm losing a lot of appointments with my insurance carriers making it really hard to work."

Turning to face Gordon directly, he continued, "Yeah, you're her Dad but I'm going to be blunt with you: She's a great fuck. An even better lay because she was married and it was risky. We both enjoyed hiding it from Buster, cucking him. But that part is over now, and he's killing my career and it's killing my mojo. I don't think there's a future for me and Rachel."

"What kind of man talks about another man's daughter like that?" thought Gordon. "What a fucking asshole, I can't believe I actually liked the guy. Shit, how am I gonna get my daughter out of my house now?"

"Wait, Connor, what do you mean Buster is killing your career?"

"I'm getting letters from the insurance companies I place business with. They're all terminating my appointments. The State's Insurance Bureau has opened an investigation too."

"Connor, why? What happened?"

Looking skeptically at Gordon, Connor got up from his chair to leave, and said, "Ask your bastard son-in-law." Then he left.

Gordon thought about that for a few minutes. It had been some weeks since he saw his daughter's cheating video. It was quite disturbing, for as much as he had disregard for Buster he did not condone unfaithfulness and cheating. So, then, Connor's situation was curious.

Buster saw his phone light up. "Hello Gordon. What's up?" he monotoned.

"Hello Buster, it's been a while since we talked. Just thought I would see how you're doing?"

"You've never called me socially before, and frankly, you never really liked me. So cut to the chase Gordon. What do you want?"

With a heavy sigh, Gordon asked, "Look, I understand you're upset with my daughter. I am too, and I understand why you're divorcing her. But separately, I ran into Connor of all people and he said to talk to you about why he's losing his insurance appointments. Do you mind filling me in?"

"Sure, I'd be happy to," he said sarcastically. "Give me a moment and I'll send you a video then call me back."

A minute later Gordon was watching a video that appeared to be taken from the interior of Rachel's; former home. She and Connor were in front of Buster's locked office door and Rachel was using a key to unlock it. The video switched to the interior of Buster's office, where Connor was rifling through Buster's file cabinet, pulling files and copying them.

The video was disturbing to Gordon, especially the audio portion. "Connor, don't take too long and make sure and put everything back the way it was. Buster is organized, he'll know if something's out of place."

"Rachel, your little cuck is so organized its easy for me to find clients of his who I can visit and replace their policies, especially when I tell them how fraudulent he is."

"Ugh Connor! Why can't you just prospect for business like everyone else? Why do you have to lie about Buster? Hurry up!"

"Hey Rachel, when I'm done, how about letting me fuck you on his desk? Every time he goes to work in his office it would be like we're cucking him again!" Connor laughed at his proposal.

Rachel slapped him and laughed as well, and hurried him out of the office.

Gordon was greatly disturbed at what he saw and heard, and hesitated to call Buster back, "Ok I've seen the video. I'm not sure what to say about it."

"Really? You're not sure? You don't think breaking and entering is serious? Well, I've made a copy of the video along with a letter documenting the files I discovered he stole and the clients he replaced policies I sold and sent it to every company he's appointed with.

"Gordon, do you know there are strict rules on replacing in-force insurance policies? The only way he could do that is by either not disclosing it was a replacement, or by lying on the forms. How do you think those companies' Compliance Departments felt about that?"

"I see. So that's why he's losing all those appointments."

"Yep. Plus, I copied everything to the State's Insurance Commissioner and they opened an investigation. Connor won't be licensed for much longer. But there's more if you want to know."

"More?"

"Uh-huh. FINRA regulates investment professionals and they have all this documentation as well. Pretty soon Connor will be barred not only from insurance products but from any investment products, probably for the rest of his life.

"So you see, it's FAFO."

"FAFO? I don't know the acronym Buster."

"Fuck Around and Find Out. They fucked around on me my entire marriage. Lied to me, made fun of me, disrespected me, and now they found out. And there's more to come for both of them."

"What do you mean, "more to come?""

"Hang around a few weeks and you'll see. Good-bye Gordon. You were a shitty father-in-law." Buster hung up the phone.

Over the next few weeks life seemed to calm down. The factory was running. The club gossip was on to other matters. Rachel's downfall was old news.

Rachel's mood was improving as she began to return to the club social scene. After all, there were a lot of divorces in the club, plenty of people playing around, she was just another one who's infamy had faded.

However, devastating news dropped upon her father one evening when he answered the phone. Ruth Doring, Roger's wife, called Gordon. "Gordon, my husband and your partner had a massive heart attack and is dead."

Gordon and Roger had split the duties in running the factory. Now one half of the partnership was dead, and the role would have to be filled.

The wake was a solemn affair, attended by many of the club members and factory employees. Roger had been a pretty good guy. Gordon and Gracy, grandfather Griffin, and Rachel stayed the entire time to visit with the well-wishers.

The widow, Ruth, was across the room and began walking over to Gordon accompanied by a distinguished gentleman.

"Gordon, this is my family attorney. With Roger's death I've not received any payroll the last two weeks and wonder when it will hit my account."

"I'm sorry Ruth, but Roger's loss is huge for all of us. He's obviously not working anymore, so why would there be a paycheck for him?"

"Because, Gordon, I'm your new partner. I own the majority of the company now, so I expect a regular paycheck as we've been getting. In fact, I think it should even be higher."

"Ruth, is this the place to discuss this? Do you really expect to fill his shoes at the factory?"

"Not at all. But you're in business with me now. And I expect a paycheck."

"Come on Ruth, that isn't fair at all. We can't pay you and also pay someone to fill his role!"

The distinguished attorney interrupted. "These matters are always delicate, but also are a matter of legality. You and Roger had a buy/sell agreement in place, and it clearly shows that Ruth is your new partner."

Roger and the rest of the family witnessing this looked alarmed.

"Gordon, I know this is a shock to you, and to all of us. My preference really isn't to take a paycheck. I really don't want any part of the company. I would rather you just buy out my interest per the terms of the buy/sell agreement."

"Well, I'm not sure what that process is, Ruth." Gordon was not only alarmed, but recalled the conversation his soon to be ex-son-in-law had about this.

The attorney explained, "The buy/sell agreement stipulates the deceased partner's fair value must be purchased within 90 days or the company sold to pay off that interest. The company value is assessed by an independent firm that reviews the financials and sales and arrives at a valuation."

"I don't remember that being in any agreement," complained Gordon.

Reaching into his breast pocket, the attorney pulled out a copy and handed it to Gordon.

The attorney said, "I will engage in an independent valuation of the company. You figure out how to gather the funds for the buyout of Roger's 51 percent."

As the attorney began to walk away, he turned back and noted the crestfallen faces of Gordon and his family. "Gordon, this isn't that big of a deal. Surely you have life insurance on the shareholder's to pay the buyout, don't you? It's a pretty standard thing to do."

Gordon hung his head and said, "fuck me."

Rachel looked at her father and said, "oh fuck, we're in deep shit. Buster was right all along."

Gordon's wife looked at both of them and said, "It looks like you both blew it. The best person that could have happened to both of you, you criticized and humiliated and disregarded. And now look at what you've done to yourselves."

Grandfather nodded, "And if you had an ounce of respect and had listened to that honest young man, you'd be kissing his feet right about now for saving your ass."

Gordon and his daughter had no words in response. Really, what could they say?

A few weeks later the valuation came in. Here is the problem with closely held companies: The valuation is based on assets and revenue stream. There are several different valuation methods, but the main issue is that companies rarely have enough cash-on-hand to pay out a deceased partner's share to the surviving spouse.

Life insurance is pennies on the dollar, and is the most efficient way to cover that possibility.

Closely held companies need the cash on hand for inventory, payroll, payables, operating expenses. For most companies, it's a matter of cash flow, and a lot of cash is tied up in accounts receivable and inventory.

Even if a company is making a nice profit, it doesn't mean there's tons of cash laying around. And company owners usually don't have the personal cash-on-hand either.

So what did Gordon have to do? He had to sell the factory in what is called a "fire-sale." He had 90 days to pay off his deceased partner's wife, and had to sell out at a reduced price to quickly attract a buyer.

Of course this was great for Ruth, she got cashed out. But there wasn't much left over for Gordon. And the job he had as the executive at the factory was eliminated by the new owners who merged the factory into other operations.

Gone was the country club membership unless Gordon wanted to pick that expense up on his own.

Days after this, Rachel and Connor were called into the Chairman's office of their company. An HR representative was there, and they recognized one of the company attorney's.

When seated, the attorney hit 'play' on a remote and a video sprang to life on a monitor.

"We've got all morning and most of the afternoon babe. We can order room service too. Just relax and get your energy up. It isn't like during the week when we have to hurry to get back to work."

"Room service sounds good, just like when we take those long lunches at work!" Connor began laughing, "Good thing you're the one that approves my expense reports at the company. I love how our hotel rooms and room service lunches are "marketing expenses." I laugh every time I get my reimbursement check.!"

"It works out well for both of us, Connor. We've got it down to a science, the only downfall is that you have to stay in that sales development role all these years in order to get our fucking sessions paid for."

"Yeah, but it does give me some freedom outside of the office and as long as I meet my sales quota I don't have to answer for where I am. These past five years have been great. I get my balls emptied, my anxiety is reduced, it's great physical exercise when I'm with you, and our bodies just fit together so well!"

"They do, they do," Rachel replied.

There was a hush in the room as the monitor was turned off. Connor and Rachel were red-faced as they sat. The other occupants simply looked at them. The silence in the room was unnerving.

"You both are terminated immediately, and you both are hereby sued for fraud. Security will escort you out." The attorney handed them their lawsuits as they left the room for the walk of shame down the familiar hallways, their co-workers looking on with surprise, disgust, glee, and any other emotion to embarrass the now former employees.

Amid all this distress, Gordon and the family were at the bar at the club. Somewhere they could hear Connor telling his hilarious stories. Rachel was nursing a cocktail, pondering her uncertain future compared to all her past first-class vacations courtesy of Buster's work..

Once again the noisy chit-chat within the club became silent. Everyone was looking toward the doors when several police officers entered, led by several men in suits. A small crowd began to form. Connor hurried over to see what was about to go down.

The officers stopped and looked around for a moment, two walked over to Connor and pulled him into the center of the room while another went over to the bar and escorted Rachel.

"You both are under arrest for home invasion, theft, grand larceny, and conspiracy to commit theft. Turn around and put your hands around your back."

Can you believe Connor actually resisted arrest? He spun around, jerking his hands away from the officers and screamed, "What!? Why am I being charged? Do you know who the fuck I am?"

One of the officers replied, "What? Don't you know either? Don'cha know who your father is?"

There was a light chuckle from the gathering crowd. "You both conspired to break into a home office, steal client folders, and commit fraud and false claims."

Rachel was mortified at the accusation. One of the suited men saw her face and knew the question she was asking herself.

"Honey, it's all on video. Your soon-to-be ex-husband had security videos as you might expect for such a highly regulated business."

Once again, she slumped to the floor, sobbing.

Of course, a conviction would keep Connor out of the financial services industry but Buster had filed video and documented evidence with the State Insurance Bureau, FINRA, and each of the clients he had misled, and they in turn sued Connor for fraudulent representation as well.

Several months later the divorce was final. Rachel's attorney said she'd like to talk with Buster if he could visit her at the prison for closure for both of them. Graciously, he agreed.

In the visitor room, overseen by several correctional officers walking around the room eyeing everyone, Rachel's eyes lit up when Buster walked in. She stood up and reached out to hug him when she heard an officer bark at her, "no touching allowed!" Meekly she sat back down.

"It's good to see you, Buster. Thanks for coming."

"Yep. What do you want, Rachel."

Noting the flatness in her ex-husband's voice and the disinterested look on his face, Rachel immediately felt regret at what she lost.

"I just wanted to say, I... I, well Buster, I know that it was I alone that destroyed the life that we had together, the life that you had built for us.

"We did have some happy years together, at least I did. But I want to tell you I know I was wrong to try and enjoy both parts of my life, the excitement with Connor and the stability and love with you. It wasn't your fault.

"Just know that despite what I did, Buster, I loved you. I really did. You were my rock, the anchor in the storm of my disorganized and selfish life. I created storms and you calmed them. You were unwavering in your dependability. And I thank you for that."

Buster sat and listened to what appeared to be kind words, but he felt no real emotion. After all, a post-facto realization doesn't really change anything, does it? So being gracious, he simply said, "Thank you," and paused, "Is that all Rachel?"

Rachel looked down and pondered her remaining moments with Buster. Being cooped up in prison didn't give her much scintillating conversation, and she hoped her last conversation with Buster would be better than a simple 'thank you.'

"No, I guess that's all. Thank you for coming. I hope the rest of your life goes better than what you had with me."

He sat and looked at his ex-wife in her orange prison jumpsuit remembering all the criticism and hurt she had heaped upon him.. With a sense of triumph he thought of how he'd been proven right in his advice regarding his father-in-law's business. And Connor? He was always a loser and finally got what he deserved.

Though he had pretty much crushed his ex-wife by selling the home out from under her, getting her fired, then convicted, not to mention destroying her affair partner, he still had a grievance for how he felt cheated out of those years with her. He thought one more knife cut was in store.

"Oh, it's going pretty good actually. I'm a big hit at the club, writing a lot of business once it got out how your Dad ignored my advice and then lost his company. A lot of your skanky girlfriends hit on me too but I've turned them all down. Just can't trust those whores.

"Maybe you remember Karen from some of the bike rides? You know, that gorgeous blonde who's ass looks great on a bike saddle and her boobs fill out a cycling jersey? Well we've been dating for a while now, going on rides together. It's really nice to have a full-time riding partner, it was something I had always hoped you and I could have done.

"Anyways, I moved into her house, so I'm sure you know all that includes" he said with a wide smile. "She had a rough time with a husband who beat her a lot and made her life miserable. You remember how I treated you? Well she really appreciates that same treatment.

"She's also working with me and doing a lot of the paperwork and follow-up, so my production is even higher now. So you're hoping life is better than what I had with you?

"Well, what do you think?"

Tears began to form in Rachel's eyes.

"I'm taking her with me on another trip I won, this one to Tahiti. We went shopping for her bikinis the other day. Love those dressing rooms!" He winked at her.

And now the last cut he knew would be the deepest. He stood to leave,

"Oh, and since you're now at a "club" but not the other club anymore you probably wouldn't hear this. It turns out I bought a ring and reserved for a private spot on the beach."

Walking to the door he turned and said, "At sunset I'm going to give it to her."

* * * *

For those of you familiar with the Iceman race, yes I admit I took a few liberties. There are no drops or berms on the race, and depending on the finish location there may or may not be showers. Lighten up, this is fiction. And for you insurance and financial types, maybe you'll want to quibble just a little, but again, it's fiction!

For the rest of you, come to Michigan's upper lower peninsula and enjoy the scenery and visit a coney island! And if you want to know where Copper Harbor is, it's at the tip of the Upper Peninsula on Lake Superior and has excellent mountain bike trails.